


Nothing Left

by ncfan



Series: Sirion [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, References to Addiction, Uncertainty, fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elwing contemplates herself as Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left

Elu Thingol was a great and powerful King. He was the tallest of all of the Children of Ilúvatar, towering over the heads of all of his subjects. Everyone says that he was wise and strong ( _despite evidence to the contrary on the former_ ), that he was a good King to his people. He ruled over a massive realm, over the forests of Doriath, and over all Beleriand. He was the High King over the Sindar, the High King over all Beleriand; the Noldorin kingdoms were established only with his permission.

Melian the Queen was a Maia, a powerful spirit who had taken on the form of an Edhel, but who was clearly alien to look upon. Her prowess in magic and enchantment far outdid that of any living Edhel, and she was wiser than any Child of Ilúvatar, ancient wisdom guiding her. It was she who cast the barrier that protected the forests of Doriath from outside invasion, she who kept the kingdom safe ( _And she who abandoned them all to their fates by leaving—the enchantments of Melian would surely fail, without their caster there to maintain them_ ).

Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol and Melian, the most beautiful nís ever to be born to the Edhil. She sang a song of power that overthrew even the fortress of Sauron, and with Beren's help stole a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown. ( _She expected help from a people who had lost so much on account of the inaction of her father_.) She was the first Edhel to wed with a son of the Edain ( _And she was asked to give up everything that she had to be with him, while he was asked to surrender nothing_ ).

Dior Eluchíl was the son of Beren and Lúthien, grandson of Thingol and the King's heir. After Thingol was slain and Melian left Doriath, Dior came to Doriath as their new King, with his sons and his pregnant wife at his side. Dior sought above all else to rebuild ( _And yet, everything was torn down on account of him_ ). When he wore the Silmaril, set as it is into Finrod's Nauglamír, he was without a doubt the most beautiful child of the Edhil, the most beautiful child of the Edain, and the most beautiful scion of the Maiar that had ever lived ( _And the way he cleaved to this Silmaril cost them all very dear_ ).

And then, there is Elwing.

The room, what they call her presence chamber though in all honesty it is just a room, just like any other, is silent and empty. Elwing is the only one in this room, sitting on the chair they call her throne, despite it being a chair just like any other. Night has fallen; the room is cast in ghostly white and deep veils of shadow. She sits in the cool silence. Her neck has begun to hurt as it often does when she sits in this chair. But she can not sleep, and there is nothing else to do, but sit here and ponder.

Elwing is a child in the years of the Edhil, though she has grown uncommonly fast (just as her father did; they all tell her that, and she grits her teeth and struggles to remain impassive), and looks to all as though nearly grown. She is diminutive, in size more appropriate to the child of less than thirty years that she is, but otherwise, she is as an adult. Her face lost its childhood roundness some years ago, instead showing features thin and delicately carven. Many people look at her, and forget just how young she is.

They call her their Queen. She is High Queen over the Sindar—there are even some who call her High Queen over all Beleriand. She is Dior's daughter, Lúthien's granddaughter, Thingol and Melian's great-granddaughter. Elwing is a daughter of a house of Kings, daughter of a house of spirits, daughter of a house of the powerful. Some say that the fact that Thingol ultimately named Dior his heir and not Lúthien is evidence that he did not consider his female descendants eligible to inherit his titles and authority, but the majority of the Iathrim Sindar do not hold with that opinion.

They call Elwing their Queen. She is their Queen.

So she sits upon this chair (that which they call her throne) alone.

In the night, when Elwing can not sleep, she sits upon her chair in her presence chamber, watching moths flitter between light and shadow like moonbeams, and ponders her future, wonders about everything.

She is High Queen over the Sindar ( _High Queen over a broken, scattered people_ ). She is High Queen over all Beleriand ( _High Queen over a broken land ever falling to the Enemy, and even at the height of its glory, Thingol had not the resources to justify his claiming of the title_ ). People come to the Havens of Sirion every day. If they are Noldor, they either look to Idril for leadership, or they are looking to book passage on a ship to the Isle of Balar, where their High King resides. Anyone among the Sindar, the Iathrim Sindar, some of the Falathrim, even some of the natives of Ossiriand who were forced to flee their homes (though not the Mithrim Sindar), they look to her. They look to Elwing as their Queen, their leader. They have grief, they have grievances, and they look to her for solutions.

And they want her to be like them.

They want her to be like Dior, who could rebuild a kingdom reeling from a ruinous war with the Naugrim of Nogrod. They want her to be like Thingol, who could unite a scattered people under his banner and rule a great kingdom for centuries on end. They want her to be like Melian, who protected Doriath with her enchantments. They want her to be like Lúthien, who sang a song of power so great and powerful that she threw down Sauron's fortress in one fell swoop.

They want her to be like Lúthien, who gave up everything for Beren, who cut herself off from her people, her family, her own parents. They want her to be like Thingol, who, it seems to Elwing, was the very one to spark the war with the Naugrim by his contemptuous, dismissive treatment of them. They want her to be like Melian, who abandoned Doriath, who left the Iathrim weak and vulnerable to their enemies. They want her to be like Dior, on whose account everything was torn down and ruined to the last.

( _And she understands the draw of the Silmaril. She understands, never letting it go. She understands feeling incomplete without its weight around your neck. And yet still, her anger is roused like a banked flame, at what their actions wrought._ )

Elwing feels no power in her veins. She is the scion of a Maia, and yet she feels none of the Maia's power. She can not set down enchantments or barriers to ward off enemies. She can not change her shape. She can not weave magic with song, can not sing a song of power to throw down fortresses and overpower the servants of Morgoth. She has not the wisdom of Melian, either. Every day she spends as Queen, she feels as though she is groping in the dark, struggling to make even the simplest of decisions without making an utter hash of things.

She can not do what they did, and she _will_ not do what they did. She will not give up her immortality just because some handsome Adan catches her eye. She will not abandon her people, nor will she provoke pointless conflict. But what she _will_ do, Elwing can not say. The shadows and the rays of moonlight striking between them, they tell her nothing, and she has no friendly voice whispering to her to give her strength, not here.

This is what she has inherited: Kingship over a scattered, failing people, and Kingship over a broken house, of which she is the last survivor. _I am Queen of nothing,_ Elwing thinks to herself, and shuts her eyes, so that the light reaches her no longer. The light can not help her, you see. There is only one source of light that can do that.

**Author's Note:**

> Edhel—Elf (plural: Edhil) (Sindarin)  
> Nís—woman (plural: nissi)  
> Edain—Men, specifically the Men of the three houses of the Edain, who were faithful to the Elves throughout the First Age (singular: Adan) (Sindarin)  
> Naugrim—a Sindarin name for the Dwarves that the Elves used amongst themselves (but presumably not in front of the Dwarves themselves) meaning 'The Stunted People' (Sindarin)


End file.
